


Command

by Shayheyred



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: Chromatic Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayheyred/pseuds/Shayheyred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Funny, the things you think about when you're likely to die</p>
            </blockquote>





	Command

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anamariewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamariewrites/gifts).



> I was blessed with the best betas ever, brooklinegirl and lamardeuse, who know the canon and characters inside out and were unbelievably helpful in keeping the characters true to themselves. These were great prompts, by the way, and it was tough to decide which of the three fandoms to choose. Obviously, anamariewrites, we are kindred spirits! Hope you find this to your liking.  
> 
> 
> * * *

Funny, the things you think about when you're likely to die.

 _Where was—_

 _What did—_

 _Flash, push, slam—_

 _Oh, right. Explosion._

Seconds earlier there'd been the familiar thrum of adrenaline, the heightened awareness that came once the Plan had reached its culmination, that moment of _yeah, gotcha!_ that he always felt from his itchy fingertips to his twitching dick, but now that things had literally come crashing down around him, there was—

—nothing, just a stillness around him and a buzzing in his head.

He was calm.

Funny.

Still…there was probably something he should do, something like—

Ah. _Breathe._

He expelled air with a lungful of dust, retched up a lungful more and lapsed into rasping coughs. Oh yeah, breathing was interesting with so much dust kicked up. He waved the air, trying to clear it, and his hand abruptly came in contact with something above him, something solid and unexpected where open air should have been.

 _What is—_

 _Where is—_

 _Open your eyes._

 _Wait, they are open._

Face waved a hand in front of his eyes, blinked, rubbed his eyes and waved again.

Huh.

 _Funny._

~%~

"Colonel! You still breathin'?"

Hannibal shook his head, the ringing still in his ears, but screw that, all hell had broken loose around them and there wasn't time to worry if he'd blown out his eardrums. Besides, he could hear Murdock wheezing as they pulled themselves off the ground. "I'm fine. What happened?"

"Goddamn underground ammo dump," Murdock answered, sounding surly about it. "Our happy-to-help informant conveniently forgot to mention it." He wheezed again and spat. "That last grenade set it off."

Hannibal nodded but stopped as a wave of vertigo hit him. "What about the bad guys?"

"Dust in the wind, Colonel, all they are is dust in the wind," Murdock crooned, his teeth white against his dirt-smeared face. "What was left of 'em run off with their tails between their legs."

"Where are—"

"B.A's over t'other side of the rise, pretending he didn't just fly through the air like a big black bird. He is some graceful motherfucker, you know that? Coulda' had a career in ballet, B.A. could, but I think he—"

"Can it, Captain. Where's Face?"

Murdock took off his baseball cap and dusted it against his leg. The dirt on his face stopped at the line where the visor had been. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "Faceman? Oh, he's over by that big pine tree."

Hannibal squinted. The hillside was empty, just a bare jumble of broken rocks, chunks of wood and dirt. "What pine tree?"

"That one, right over—" Murdock looked in the direction of his thumb and frowned. "Hey, where's the tree gone?"

Hannibal's face went dark and his hand clenched in Murdock's jacket. "Where's _Face_ gone?"

~%~

 _Either somebody put out the lights, or I'm blind._

Given the circumstances, whatever they were, he thought he was taking it remarkably well. His head was clearing, though it ached miserably, and with the absence of sparks and flashes in his vision and concussive explosions against his back, he was beginning to make sense of the situation; clearly he was buried under dirt and rubble, his body and what felt like parts of a tree trunk forming an air pocket.

Face pushed gingerly against the rough bark with his right hand, and then pressed harder. No joy. His left hand was pinned beside him; attempts to dislodge it resulted only in a shower of dirt from above. _Okay, Face, don't do that._ His brain, calm up to this point, was beginning to process some very disturbing thoughts, like _I'm pinned,_ and _I'm buried_ and inevitably _buried alive_.

He took as deep a breath as the tree across his chest and the thick air would allow, and forced his pulse to slow. _Not going anywhere for a while, so might as well relax. They'll get me out. Hannibal will get me out._ Very, very deliberately he deleted the end of that thought, _assuming Hannibal's still alive himself._

"Shut up, Face," he muttered. "Of course he's alive. Too tough a bastard to die." His voice was ragged and muffled by the space, the niche, _this grave, this tomb—_ "Shut up," he repeated. "Shut up. They're coming."

Face lay back and waited.

~%~

"I got the chain from the truck," B.A. called, trotting down from the road.

"Good. Murdock — take the other end. We'll loop it around what's left of the trunk."

Murdock looked thoughtfully at the huge chunks of fallen tree. "Hannibal, I don't know if this will—"

"Don't argue with me — just do it." He leaned into Murdock's space. "That's an order."

Murdock looked at him funny and started to open his mouth again but B.A. grabbed a handful of his leather jacket. "Shut up, fool," he muttered. "Don't worry, Hannibal. We'll make it work." He dragged Murdock with him, handing him the chain.

Kneeling by the mass of debris, Hannibal wrestled rocks and broken branches out of the huge pile. Each molecule of his body felt like it was vibrating with the need for action, yet he forced himself to remain outwardly calm, to keep his face impassive. His hands worked methodically at the rubble; only his voice escaped his control. "Hurry up."

"Yes, Colonel."

"On it," said B.A.

Hannibal stared intently at the pile of rubble, as if he could peer clear through it. "You better be alive, Face. You hear me?"

Hannibal saw B.A. glance up and catch Murdock's eye. "We'll get him, Hannibal."

"Yeah," drawled Murdock, "he'll be okay. We'll make sure." He didn't sound sure.

Hannibal didn't answer.

 _You hear me, Lieutenant? If you die, I'll kill you._

~%~

He tried to ignore it, but the fact remained that it was getting decidedly harder to breathe.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed; it was completely dark and no sound penetrated the thick layer of rubble. Face thought maybe he'd blacked out for a few minutes, because he'd had the idea for a while there that he was lying on a particularly firm mattress, something warm holding him down and moving above him, which was far better than the reality of being wedged under cold earth and sharp-edged rocks. He struggled with another breath, coughing as more dust flew down his throat. His head was hurting more, which could mean a head wound, or too much carbon dioxide. Either way, he was fucked.

 _Fucked._ Nothing wrong with that word, though, or that idea, if it meant being pressed to the mattress by a superior force ( _you may be my superior, but not in the bedroom,_ he'd said, and the amused voice growling in his ear as their bodies ground together replied, _we'll see about that, Lieutenant._ It had only made him wrestle harder before submitting, which had been Face's plan all along). And then they'd—

Damn. He forced himself back to awareness, and was immediately sorry he'd done so. If he was going to die, he'd rather it was fast, with a bullet, not slow suffocation in a dirt tomb.

Truth be told, though, he'd really rather die in a comfortable bed, preferably _in flagrante delicto._ Face grinned at the thought, but his grin faded quickly. Funny how laughing in the face of death wasn't funny at all, when nobody was there to laugh with you.

~%~

"See anything yet?"

"No," Murdock muttered. His hands were raw from pulling rocks and dirt out of the way. "Face, you in there?" He cocked his head and listened. "Nothin' yet."

"He's alive," Hannibal said tersely.

"We know he is, Colonel," said Murdock quickly, too quickly, maybe.

"Move outta' the way." B.A. shoved Murdock over and took over his position, his broad hands lifting rocks that Murdock could barely shift. "Put the shovel under this rock — I need to pry it out."

"Copy that."

Hannibal knelt across the — _not a grave, it's not a grave_ — site, glancing at his watch. Twenty minutes. Twenty fucking minutes. How much air remained? How long could a man live, buried this way? _How long does it take a man to die?_ "Faster," he ordered. Go faster." His own hands sank into the earth again, tearing at the dirt.

~%~

His head hurt, his left arm had gone numb, and his left leg was twisted with a deep ache in it that he assumed meant it'd taken the brunt of the debris, though he didn't think the bone was broken. "I'll be sore for a week," he murmured, and had to smile, because that's what he'd said their last time together, outside Tucson, in the desert cabin with the full moon rising outside the window, and the other two off somewhere scouting or surveilling or doing god knew what. The sleeping bags by the fire had been remarkably comfortable under his naked back, and Hannibal panting in his ear had said _you'll be sore longer than that, Lieutenant. Now get on your knees._

 _Don't tell me what to do_ was on his lips, but he rolled to his knees anyway because _he_ wanted it, not because he was ordered to do it. And then there was a sweet, blunt pressure and a warm hand around him and it didn't take much more until he was rocked with a final thrust and heard a grunt of completion behind him, and then heat flooded him, and he came with a cry, spilling into that big warm hand.

Afterwards, he joked, _Hey, don't you love it when a plan "comes" together?_ and Hannibal—

Face jolted to full awareness again, drawing a painful breath, his mouth gaping open like a fish.

 _Hurry. You better hurry, Hannibal._

~%~

Twenty-seven minutes.

Thirty minutes.

"I've got it raised." One of B.A.'s huge arms was wrapped around an enormous boulder and he sweated and grunted with the effort of holding it in place. "Better hurry, Hannibal. Can't hold it forever."

Hannibal pushed with all his strength, but neither the rock nor the tree it held in place shifted. "Murdock, gun the engine!"

Up the slope the van roared, straining the chain to its limits. "It's going!" B.A. shouted. But a second later his feet started to slip out from under him in the loose dirt, and the boulder slid down in his grasp. "Push, Hannibal, push!"

Hannibal pushed with all his strength. He could see nothing but dirt under the tree as it finally levered up, but was that the toe of Face's boot—

There was a loud clang of metal against rock as the chain gave way and snapped. B. A. fell backwards and the tree began to rock back. "Don't let it crush him!" Hannibal shouted, control of his emotions gone completely. Frantically he grabbed the shovel and wedged it into the space beneath before the tree could slam back into place.

"Dammit, dammit to hell!" B.A. yelled, rolling back into position and grabbing at the boulder. "Murdock, back up! We're goin' again!"

Hannibal stared at the earth.

Thirty-four minutes.

~%~

It wasn't so bad here. In fact, it was nice, very relaxing here by the pool. Probably he'd had one too many drinks, because numbness was rapidly traveling up his body and his head was buzzing. He lay back in the lounge chair, a hint of tropical breeze playing across his cooling skin as if it were kissing him all over. His eyes were closed, but he knew the moment a hot mouth descended on him, leaving a wet trail down his neck, his chest, his stomach, teasingly avoiding his dick and balls but sliding lower. Hands lifted him and that torturing tongue slid even further, coming to rest between his buttocks. He raised up, pressing against the cruel, sweet mouth, crying _Jesus God, more! more!_ because already he was close, so very close. But the mouth pulled away — _Christ! Don't you know that's cruel and unusual punishment!_ he moaned, trying to press further back but hands held him in place, and the gravelly voice laughed and said, _Easy, Lieutenant, you won't come until I tell you to_ , and he cursed and shook as the tongue came back, teasing, torturing, but he obeyed, yes, he obeyed, he always—

"—here!"

Dirt on his face, a spatter and then a cascade.

"Got him. I got him."

Flying sideways.

"Careful!"

A rush of sound. Needles of pain pricking through his left arm. Bright light behind his eyelids. A jumble of voices.

"Watch his neck—"

"Straighten out—"

"He's not breathin'!"

Something pried his lips apart, and suddenly there was a mouth on his. _Helluva time for a kiss,_ Face thought, and then air was blowing into his lungs, warm Hannibal-scented air. It felt good; warmth coursed through him, bringing a tingle to his body that centered in his dick. Now hands were feeling him up, checking his neck, his legs, his arms, reaching around gingerly to feel his spine. _Quit it, or I'll pop a boner right here_ , he thought wildly, but on reflection it felt so good he hoped the hands wouldn't stop.

"Damn, that was close. Hannibal, is he…I mean—" That twang had to be Murdock. It was sweet how much Murdock cared.

"Don't be a fool, fool," a low voice rumbled. "Hannibal — he okay?" B.A. That would be B.A. Good old B.A.

Two sets of hands dropped away. But the most familiar hands were still on him, and shook him sharply, which hurt as his numbness dissipated. Probably was a good thing, though, because it meant he wasn't dead. "What's wrong with you?" bellowed an angry voice. "I ordered you to breathe!" Face blinked one eye open, and then the other and — _I'm not blind, what a relief_ — a face swam into focus, stern, angry, familiar, streaked with dirt. But Hannibal's eyes were not stern or angry — they were full of fear, and Face couldn't help but feel smug. _Scared ya, huh? Who's in charge now, Colonel?_

He opened his mouth to talk, but drew nothing into his dusty lungs. He rasped and rattled like a dying man, and Hannibal shook him again, shouting, "You keep breathing, Lieutenant, you hear me? Don't you dare disobey my direct order!"

 _Jesus, enough with the orders, already!_ Pissed off, Face opened both his eyes wide, took a shuddering breath and coughed out a grave's worth of dust. "Fuck you," he rasped, rolling to his side. "Fuck you, Colonel."

Around him he could feel his teammates react. B.A. froze. Murdock twitched once and went still.

And Hannibal—

Hannibal grinned at him, leaned close, and whispered:

"Sure. Next time."


End file.
